


Sleeper Agent

by townshend



Category: BioShock
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-17
Updated: 2010-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/townshend/pseuds/townshend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written anonymously for the BioShock Kink Meme on LJ.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Sleeper Agent

**Author's Note:**

> Written anonymously for the BioShock Kink Meme on LJ.

"Baby" wasn't exactly a "baby" anymore at all, but Suchong wouldn't call him anything else unless it was by his subject number. He'd called Fontaine about an hour ago telling him to see the progress, and Fontaine realized he hadn't visited in about two months, he'd been so busy with everything else. Come to think of it, it probably _would_ be a good idea to go and see how his pet project was coming along.

He got dressed and took a bathysphere to Fontaine Futuristics. He had time to spare that day, and Suchong got a little touchy if you ignored his calls too long. The man was brilliant, but he could be childish. Over the last year or so, the child had grown immensely - just as Fontaine had asked - but the formula wasn't exactly perfected. Although the child's size had increased so that he resembled a teenager, his weight was so severely under what would be normal that he was almost in danger of death. In his call, though, Suchong had promised that the weight issue was under control, that he'd perfected the aging formula, that "baby looks healthy", and if that were so, Fontaine would be pleased to see for himself. He could _not_ let this child die.

When he arrived, the receptionist (a pretty little twist named Amy, young and under-qualified for the job but so damn nice to look at) quickly stood, looking pleased and surprised and rushed and a million little things at once. Her high heels clicked on the floor as she hurried towards Frank, taking his coat.

"Hello, Mr. Fontaine, sir," she said, smiling her shiny white smile he was almost certain wasn't natural. She tucked his coat under her arm, beginning to usher him towards the familiar path towards where Suchong was working and the boy was being kept. "Dr. Suchong told me he was expecting you. I'm to bring you right to him the minute you get here. No dawdling." She was _still_ smiling. "That's too bad, isn't it?"

Was she flirting with him? Was she honestly flirting with him? "Pretty to look at" didn't mean he was _interested._

"He's a busy man," he remarked, casually. "And his time is my money." With that, he nodded, regarding her, and turned to step briskly down the hall. The lower employees knew there was a point they weren't allowed to cross, and Fontaine stepped across the invisible line, leaving the girl standing there, coat in hand. It probably wouldn't bother or discourage her. Amy was pretty, but she wasn't very bright.

Frank reached the labs within minutes. The door swished open and he stepped through, and two pairs of eyes moved to look up at him - Suchong's, and a young man's. The young man was sitting on an examination table, his arm extended while Suchong took his blood for a sample. As Fontaine stepped in, Suchong withdrew the needle, sighing as he swabbed and applied a bandage to the small puncture wound.

"Hello, Mister Fontaine," the boy said, raising his free hand in a wave. Frank ignored him for the moment, pulling off his hat and discarding it on a nearby counter, which he then leaned against, one leg casually crossed in front of the other.

"Was wondering if you would show," Suchong murmured. Despite Fontaine's reputation and status over Suchong, the man did little to show respect. For some reason, this didn't really bother Fontaine. He knew the doctor knew who signed his paychecks, and he knew Suchong was brilliant. Besides, sometimes it was refreshing to have at least one person who _didn't_ cower around him all the damn time.

"Here I am," Frank replied. The boy seemed to be following this conversation with close interest, and Fontaine didn't really blame him. The kid was probably starving for social contact down here, but social contact wasn't what he had been bred and designed for. He didn't need it.

"Well, you can see progress for yourself," Suchong murmured, putting the sample in its proper place and moving to the other side of the room. He withdrew a manilla folder, handing it off to Fontaine as he bustled about the lab. "Here is chart you asked me to keep. All details are inside." Fontaine started to flip though it, but it was something he'd actually need to sit down with to really process. He closed it, folding it under his arm. "Better just to show you progress than write meaningless report."

They stood there for a moment, quiet, before Suchong gestured impatiently towards the boy. "Well?" he said, impatient. "Aren't you wanting to look?" He sighed, aggravated, adjusting the glasses that had slipped down his nose. "Stand up from table, would you kindly?"

Suddenly, almost mechanically, the young man righted himself, now standing stiff in front of the table, as if at attention. Well, the mind control phrase was clearly working, but Fontaine couldn't help but notice the unpleasant expression that had crossed the kid's face when he'd been forced to stand. He was obviously aware of the phrase and what it made him do. It didn't really matter now. When his mind was wiped and the new memories put in place, the little sucker wouldn't have a clue.

Setting the folder down beside his hat, Fontaine stepped towards the boy, surveying him. He was wearing normal, nondescript clothing - a simple white undershirt with sleeves and a pair of black pants - and he looked, despite being about two years old now, in his mid-to-late teens. From what Fontaine could see, the kid was of average build - not thin, but not fat, with a decent amount of muscle. For an assassin, the kid was a little on the scrawny side, but he'd bring that up with Suchong later. The colossal difference between the last time he'd seen the kid and now was astounding. The kid didn't move - he was probably used to close scrutiny, although Fontaine thought he saw his nose twinge just a bit, obviously catching the scent of the businessman's cologne. It was something he'd be unfamiliar with, that was for sure.

"He looks good," Frank remarked, his gaze moving back to Suchong. "What about the weapons training?"

Suchong rolled his eyes. "Takes me two months to perfect aging formula and all I get is 'what about weapons training'. You want me to make full-trained assassin out of baby in just two years, impossible!" He closed the file he was currently noting in and sighed. "But progress made in that area as well. I'll show you." He waved his hand, walking towards the door. "Follow me."

Fontaine wasn't sure if Suchong was talking to him, the kid, or both with those last two words, but they both followed, the boy quickly after Suchong with Frank bringing up the rear. The next room over was a makeshift sort of target practice room, and Fontaine watched as Suchong handed the boy a pistol. There was a small glass shield to the far side, and Fontaine ducked behind it. Suchong followed, hitting a small switch. Dummies dropped in from the ceiling, beginning to move on a complicated lever system. The boy didn't move for a while, watching the dummies skate around. For a moment, Fontaine thought he was going to stand there until ordered, and that would just be goddamn inconvenient.

Finally, though, he raised the gun, _fast_ , suddenly beginning to fire. Four dummies fell in rapid succession, although the other two shots went off-target. Still, it was impressive, and his arm didn't even quiver as he lowered the gun. Frank saw the improvement and he sure as hell liked it.

"This is about average," Suchong noted. "More?"

Just as Fontaine was about to ask to see a different weapon and maybe even a live subject, an alarm sounded. Both the kid and Frank seemed to start, surprised by the sound. Suchong spat out Chinese that Fontaine could only assume was a curse.

"Not a security alarm," he said, quickly. "Goddamn lab spill…" He moved to rush out of the room, leaving Fontaine and the boy alone.

The boy moved to set down the gun and unload it, working quickly and methodically. Fontaine watched him quietly. After a moment, he stepped out from the barrier, keeping his eyes on the kid. He looked up at hearing Fontaine's steps, looking surprised.

"Oh," he said, "I thought… you'd followed Mister Suchong."

"Nah," Frank answered with a disinterested shrug. "I'm sure I'd only get in the way of whatever's going on in there. I'll leave his precious labs to him. I'm just interested in what he gets out of them."

"Like me," the boy suggested, watching Fontaine closely. Frank watched back. The kid had this particular expression on his face every time he looked at Fontaine that he just couldn't place. Like a cross between a child with its face pressed against the window of a fancy bakery looking in at the cakes, and the looks he used to see on Tenenbaum's face when she'd first discovered ADAM. Interest and disbelief, as if he was meeting a character from a fairy tale. Had it really been that long since he'd seen the kid? What kinds of things was he hearing about him from inside that cell he was stuck in?

"Like you," Frank finally confirmed, nodding. "You're important kid." He paused, thinking. "Don't let that go to your head."

The boy frowned. "Not important enough to have my own name, though," he noted. Frank had just been turning to leave the room, but he stopped suddenly at the boy's words.

"What's that?" he asked, expression twisting.

"Well…" The boy sounded thoughtful, but he kept his gaze coolly on Fontaine, not letting his eyes wander around the room. "It's just, you have a name. And so does Mister Suchong. And whenever he talks about other people, they all have names, too. But I don't."

Fontaine mentally rolled his eyes. Jesus christ, this was supposed to be a goddamn killing machine and he was upset over not having a proper _name_? Suchong was brilliant, but it seemed like there were some parts of humanity you just couldn't erase.

"You're right," he said, finally. "No name." This time, he actually _did_ turn, fully intent on collecting his hat, coat, and getting back home. The boy's next response, however, was sudden and forceful - almost _demanding._

"Well, I want one," he said.

Turning in the doorway, Fontaine surveyed the kid again. His face was void of any real expression, but it was clear he was feeling _defiance._ That wasn't going to do. Not at all. The kid wanted to be treated like an actual person? Well, that was too damn bad. He _wasn't_ a person. Not really. He never had been. He hadn't had a childhood, an adolescence, or even a real birth. Even his conception was planned for this purpose alone, and when his job was done, he'd be done, too.

Still, mind control or not, Fontaine understood the benefits of having his own trained assassin actually on his side. "You're right," he said again, this time injecting just a small ounce of compassion into his voice. The kid seemed to pick up on it - his shoulders, previously tense, eased just a bit. "Tell you what, kid. You want a name? I'll give you a name. I'll give you a name, and you stay a good boy and cooperate with the doc, got it?"

Considering this for a moment, the boy nodded. "And one other thing," he added, suddenly. He was trying Fontaine's patience immensely, but he seemed not to realize that. Whatever he'd heard about Fontaine was probably some bullshit propaganda about how great he was, and now Frank was going to have to live up to it.

"What else would that be?"

"One night out." The kid actually smiled. "One night out of this damn place."

Fontaine frowned. He couldn't exactly have this kid wandering around Rapture. He had to stay in a controlled environment. He thought about it for a moment, and he was about to tell the kid off when the door suddenly swished open and Suchong nearly ran right into him. He looked frazzled and certainly annoyed - not that it took much with Suchong.

"Goddamn _idiots_ I have to work with," he complained. "Chemical spill in the lab. Toxic fumes. Nobody can stay here today. It has to take twenty-four hours to clear out." He pushed Fontaine's hat into his hand. The kid watched Suchong, looking quite frankly confused - nothing like this had ever happened in his life - while Fontaine was trying to figure out how somebody he'd hired could be quite that stupid.

"Go on," Suchong chided, "go! We can't breathe this any longer."

Now that Fontaine thought about it, the air was starting to have a strange smell to it. He grit his teeth. There wasn't anywhere else to take the kid. He needed to be isolated from the rest of Rapture and monitored, and the only place he could assure that would be in his own penthouse.

"Fine," he said, putting his hat back on and grabbing the kid's wrist. "He's coming with me," he said to Suchong. The doctor seemed uncertain about that, but Fontaine didn't much care.

Quickly, the three made their way out of the lab just as an evacuation alarm sounded. As they stepped into the reception room, Amy quickly stood from her desk, picking up the coat that had been lying across her lap this whole time. She moved after Fontaine, holding it out to him. He slipped into it. The boy watched this exchange with wonder.

"Is there something wrong, sir?" she asked, looking concerned.

"Chemical spill in lab," Suchong answered for him. "Don't you hear the alarm?"

"You're off the clock early, Amy," Frank said, flatly. "Go home."

"Oh!" Amy looked surprised, then suddenly smiled, moving back towards her desk and pulling on her own jacket. She fluffed her hair out with a hand, grinning towards Fontaine. "Well, if we both have to leave early, maybe we could make something nice out of it. We could go for dinner somewhere?"

This question was clearly directed towards Fontaine. Surprisingly, she hadn't even seemed to notice the boy with him who hadn't been there when he'd come in. Then again, she may not have noticed him then even if he _had._

"Some other night," Frank answered. He turned to move out of the office, and the boy went after him, quick at his heels.

"Who was that?" he asked, just as he and Fontaine stepped out of the office and towards the bathysphere station. He was looking around at everything in absolute wonderment.

"Just some broad," Frank remarked. God, this was not how he wanted to spend his evening. He was _Frank Fontaine_ \- a _businessman_ , not a babysitter. Although he previously hadn't had any plans for the evening, a million better ways to spend it instantly sprung into his head. It seemed he was stuck with the kid for now, though. Suchong had already gone his separate way, and he definitely didn't have anybody else he could ask.

The two stepped inside the bathysphere and the boy took a seat at one of the benches on the side, looking about the sphere with wide eyes. "Does everybody travel like this?" he asked, as Fontaine closed the door, set the destination and pulled the lever. He considered the answer for a moment before sitting in the bench opposite.

"If they can afford to," he answered smoothly. "Some people used to take the Atlantic Express, but it hasn't been doing well lately. It's a train line."

The kid looked at him blankly, and Fontaine sighed. "Never mind." He probably didn't even know what a train _was_. This was going to be a hell of a night.

When the bathysphere stopped at Mercury Suites, and Fontaine stepped out, counting on the kid to follow, which he did. Fontaine moved quickly, hoping not too many people would see the young man he had with him. It was unlikely anybody would actually ask him about it, but Rapture was keen on gossip. The boy dawdled, looking at everything, causing Fontaine to nearly have to pull him into the elevator that went to his apartment. The elevator wasn't very big, but the boy stayed pressed even closer to Frank than he had to, watching the world outside the elevator as they moved up. Fontaine wondered if it scared him. Had he ever been in an elevator before? At some point during the ride the kid had gripped fingers in Fontaine's coat and was leaning in to _smell_ him, but Fontaine didn't even notice until they'd reached the top and he'd tried to pull away. The kid let go when Fontaine tugged, but his eyes were already on the room beyond.

Frank had to admit, even a normal human being would find the zen garden outside striking. The kid stopped dead outside the elevator, blinking at the rocks and neatly brushed sand.

"You live _here_?" he asked, slowly stepping towards the garden. "But where do you _sleep_?"

Fontaine laughed, suddenly, a sharp bark that echoed in the wide hall. "Not here, kid. This is just the garden."

The boy was about to interject that this didn't look like a "garden" to him at all - he'd seen pictures of gardens, and of Arcadia, and there wasn't even anything _green_ here - when Fontaine smoothly stepped past him, already shrugging out of his coat. He moved past the garden and towards a door at the other end, and the boy followed quickly.

The room beyond was simply magnificent. Fontaine watched as the kid went slack-jawed. A wide, opulent staircase led up to a small landing with a huge stuffed _bear_ statue, of all things, and then split off to either side, going up to doors that he assumed led to their own rooms, probably just as fancy and overdone as the rest of the place. This made the small room he had in the Futuristics lab look like a closet with its dingy white walls, small dresser and rickety, rusted metal-framed bed. He wondered what Fontaine's bedroom looked like…

Fontaine was hanging his coat on a wooden coat wrack, and the boy took the opportunity to move up the first few steps in awe. He reached the landing and stared at the bear statue. He was fairly certain there weren't any bears in Rapture, but Fontaine had one, dead and standing in his _house._

Fontaine was amazing.

"What're you looking at?" Fontaine asked, coming up behind him. "Oh, that." He smirked a bit, crossing his arms and surveying it. After a moment, he clapped the boy on the shoulder and turned towards the righthand staircase, trekking up them. The boy quickly followed.

"So, uhm, Mister Fontaine…" Frank glanced back towards the boy, and he swallowed. "What about my name?"

Fontaine sighed. The two stepped into the man's lounge, and Fontaine seated himself at one of the seats, inviting the kid to do the same with a sweep of his hand. The boy sat down across from him, watching as Fontaine took a cigar from the boxes set on display beside them and pulled out a small silver item from his pocket, using that to snip the end of the cigar. A moment later, he had it lit and was taking in a drag, savoring it for a moment before blowing the smoke out. The kid made a face as it wafted towards him. He'd been able to smell _this_ on Fontaine earlier, too, but somehow it wasn't as pleasant when it wasn't on him.

"What kind of a name do you want, kid?" he asked, finally. He wasn't exactly a baby name machine. He had no idea what to call the kid.

"It's not the same if you don't come up with it yourself," he maintained, frowning.

Sighing, Fontaine blew another cloud of smoke the kid's way, trying to give it some thought. Something simple and nondescript would be best - he didn't want anything that seemed abnormal or stood out. Finally, with some humor, he suggested, "How about 'Jack'?"

It fit, really. Like the story of Jack and the Beanstalk, he was going to send this kid in to a new world to destroy a giant. The only difference was that his Jack was going down instead of up. The kid, of course, didn't know the reference. His face brightened considerably.

"Jack?" he repeated, curiously. "Jack…" He was quiet for a moment, but a smile was on his face. "It's good. I like it. Thank you, Mister Fontaine."

"Yeah, yeah." Fontaine took another drag off the cigar, and then, after a moment, held it out to the kid. "You wanna try?"

Jack looked apprehensive, but he slowly reached out, taking it in his hands. "What do I do?" he asked, bringing it close to his face.

"You just put the end in your mouth and suck," Frank answered, a smirk on his face when he realized the innuendo in what he'd said. Luckily, it seemed to pass Jack by. He slowly placed the end of the cigar in his mouth where Fontaine's lips had already wet it and pulled a breath in, letting it linger in his mouth for only a second before suddenly retracting the cigar, doubling over and coughing out the smoke. He shook his head, his eyes suddenly filling with tears as he coughed and coughed again. Fontaine laughed, a hearty, amused sort of laugh when he realized how badly Jack had taken it. Well. Maybe that had been a bad idea, but he'd never claimed to be a parent.

Reaching for the cigar, he quickly took it back, putting it back between his lips. Jack looked up finally, coughing subsiding, and wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

"S-sorry," he stuttered. "You really like that?"

"It grows on you, kid," Fontaine answered, and Jack made a sort of face - most likely, he wanted Fontaine to call him by his actual name, but Fontaine ignored it. "Or maybe it's just not for you." He took another drag before placing the cigar down in a glass ashtray on the table between them. They had a whole night to kill, and he didn't particularly have any idea what they could do. With a sigh, he stood, going to the radio and turning it on. He could feel Jack's eyes on him, watching. The radio was tuned to one of Rapture's two radio stations - one for news, radio dramas, and talk shows, and the other for music. The music of Sander Cohen streamed into the apartment, thankfully a piano concerto entirely without "witty" lyrics. Jack smiled. He seemed to appreciate the music.

"You hungry?" Fontaine asked, turning back towards the kid. Jack nodded eagerly. Of course. With a sigh, Fontaine turned towards the kitchen and began to search the fridge. He already knew he had goddamn nothing, but he might as well look. It was gonna be another night of ordering in - he definitely wasn't taking the kid out. Who knew what he would spout off? He was a cute kid, and he'd attract all kinds of unwanted attention…

Within minutes, he had a call placed to the bistro below. He'd run down for one minute and pick up the food. Surely the kid could stand that long without getting himself into trouble.

Moving back into the lounge, Fontaine passed by Jack. "I'm going to pick up some food. I won't be longer than five minutes." In reality, it would likely be closer to ten, but if he told the kid five, it would keep him on his toes. "Don't get into any trouble."

"Yes Mister Fontaine," Jack answered obediently.

And so Fontaine left. He strode down the stairs, out the door, and past the garden, taking the elevator down into the lobby of Mercury Suites. There was a nice sort of small restaurant there with decently good food, and its location made it a frequent stop for Frank. He'd already placed his order over the phone - the usual, but _two_ of them, and if that didn't get the damn paparazzi talking he didn't know what would.

While he was gone, Jack sat quietly in the chair, glancing around the living room. The piano music had ended, and the radio was playing some kind of duet between a sweet-sounding woman and a man with a sultry sort of voice. After a while, though, there just wasn't anything to look at in the lounge, and Jack stood, sighing, slowly moving towards the kitchen. Fontaine had said not to get in trouble, he hadn't said not to look around.

And he definitely hadn't said "would you kindly". Those three words would have likely kept Jack in his chair, still, almost doll-like until Fontaine returned.

He searched the fridge first, but there wasn't really anything inside. Next, he opened each and every cabinet, not closing them afterwards. Dishes, silverware, glasses, all neat and orderly and stacked. But this room was boring. Jack saw a door he hadn't gone through yet, and he moved through it. It led back out into the main room - he could see the bear statue. Moving across the loft hallway, he curiously stepped into the door beyond. Surely one of these had to be Fontaine's bedroom. Now that he was curious, he absolutely had to find it.

The next room was a sort of study area, but it didn't take long to brush past that and find what he'd been looking for. A wide three-poster bed stood in the middle, and Jack looked at it, surprised. It looked so nice and soft. He was about to slide down onto it when he noticed the wardrobe in the corner. It was half-open, and inside, Jack could see a line of suits just like the one Fontaine was wearing that night hanging up inside it. Slowly approaching it, Jack nudged the wardrobe doors open, looking at the clothes in wonder. They contrasted heavily to his own. It wasn't fair. He wanted to be a _real_ person, not some throwaway kid stuck in a lab somewhere. Fontaine wore a suit. Even Suchong wore clothes more like this (and a labcoat, but that was different).

Without thinking, Jack began stripping off his clothes. The undershirt he was using as a t-shirt first, pulled off and tossed carelessly onto the floor, then the worn and thin pair of slip-on shoes, kicked off beside it. He quickly pulled the socks off after, and then went to his belt, unfastening it and quickly removing his pants. He'd keep his underwear.

Looking into the wardrobe was like looking into another world. Jack peered into the line of suits before selecting one that looked nice, dark blue with offset pinstripes, a white shirt, and a dark red tie. Slowly taking the clothes off the hanger, he began to pull them on. Jack had the shirt messily buttoned on and had slipped into the pants when he finally forced himself to realize the cold, hard truth - these clothes were just way too big for him. If he had any hope of keeping these pants on, he was going to at least need his belt, if not suspenders.

Just as Jack was pulling his belt out of his old pair of discarded pants with one hand and holding up his new pants with the other, Fontaine stepped into the room, looking confused and a little annoyed.

His expression changed entirely when he saw Jack, standing in front of his wardrobe in a now-wrinkled white button up that hung off his frame, trying to stay in a pair of pants that quite clearly belonged to him.

Fontaine had arrived home nearly four minutes ago, food in hand and calling for Jack to come help him carry it in. When Jack didn't answer, he moved quickly up to the lounge, setting the food down on the table there. The radio was still on, and he'd had the foresight of locking the elevator from moving anywhere before he'd left it. There was no way the kid could have left the apartment, at least.

Searching in the kitchen, he'd seen the cupboards all opened and sighed. Well, he'd definitely come this way. Could he really not take an order unless the magic words were attached? He'd keep that in mind.

Crossing the hall into his study and bedroom, he stepped right in on the scene unfolding in front of him. Almost instantly, an image of a young girl in mommy's too-long skirt and gapingly large high heels painting her face up with lipstick came to mind; Jack had his back to him as he fumbled with buttoning up the shirt and only noticed him when he turned to begin trying to retrieve his own belt to use with the "new" ensemble.

Jack jumped back, suddenly, taken by surprise. "Mi-Mister Fontaine!"

Frank's patience was wearing thin. There was a difference between having the kid on his side and letting everything he did be fine with him. The kid was his property, and having him think he had "free will" and forgiveness no matter what was never going to work. There had to be a balance somewhere that he needed to find and instill, _now_.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, the anger quite clear in his voice. Jack watched him with a deer-in-headlights look (another reference the kid wouldn't get). He had no idea how to react in this situation. When Dr. Suchong got mad, the best solution was to either quickly fix whatever it was that you'd done wrong or stay as still as possible and let him take care of it. Luckily, he'd come to know Dr. Suchong well enough over the time he'd been alive to know which one was best, but Fontaine was truthfully a mystery…

Quickly, he raised his hands, beginning to undo the shirt buttons he'd just managed to get done - but Fontaine reached out suddenly, one of his big, rough hands covering Jack's, effectively halting the progress.

"No," he drawled, looking suddenly amused. As was prone to happen in Fontaine's head, an idea was brewing - an idea that would teach the kid a lesson. "You wanna be treated like an adult, kid? Like a real person? Well, go ahead, Jack. Get dressed. Just like a real person would."

Jack stared up at him, torn between feeling relief that Fontaine didn't seem too angry any more and apprehension at the new, unreadable expression on his face. What was happening? He couldn't tell, but he wasn't sure he liked it. Whenever he did something wrong, the solution had never been to keep doing it. The punishments he'd gotten had been bad enough… but Mister Fontaine _wanted_ him to keep going? Why?

Slowly, he redid the one button he'd managed to get undone and slid the belt on, buckling it. Fontaine moved to a chair in the corner, seating himself casually and watching.

Jack swallowed hard. He wasn't even sure he was doing this right. He tucked the shirt into the ample room left in the pants' waistline and slowly reached for the tie. He had no idea how to tie this. He slung it around his neck, turning the stiff starched collar up long enough to get the tie under it before folding it back down. Realizing he wouldn't be able to tie it himself, Fontaine motioned Jack over, and Jack slowly moved towards him, trying not to trip over the pant legs. Yanking on his collar, Frank straightened everything before doing the tie in three or four quick, smooth movements. He sat back after that, eyes expectantly on Jack.

"Well?" he asked. "That's not all, kid. You look half-dressed."

Jack felt his face flushing. He wasn't sure why, but this was… almost embarrassing. He tried to focus on the faint sound of the music still playing in the lounge as heat burned across his cheeks, rising to his eyes. He pulled the vest on next. More buttons. Finally, he pulled on the jacket, completing the outfit.

Fontaine watched him for a moment from his chair before standing, moving across the room and slowly circling Jack, eyes on him. Jack stood there, still, his stomach turning. The bad feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn't going away, and he couldn't even figure out why it was there in the first place.

"Well, you look the part, _Jack_ ," Fontaine said, drawing the boy's name out slowly. Jack managed a weak sort of smile, and Fontaine continued. "But you're missing a few things. You're still a baby."

Jack frowned, feeling the words like a sting. "I'm _not_ ," he insisted. In some ways, Jack knew that he hadn't grown normally - he considered himself old enough, but most people his age were still in diapers. Even so, it didn't matter what age he _was_ , just what age he looked and what age he acted and what age he _felt._ He certainly wasn't a baby, and he had to find a way to prove that. But _how_?

"That so?" Fontaine laughed. "You couldn't even smoke, kid. Your little lungs couldn't handle it. You think you're grown up just because you know how to fire a gun? Any child can do that. Cowboys and Indians." The smug look of amusement on his face was making Jack's heart pound in his chest in a rush of adrenaline. This wasn't fair. Fontaine was the one who'd made him this way.

"I'm what you wanted," he argued. "That's what Doctor Suchong says. I'm what you want."

"Well Suchong is wrong." Fontaine crossed his arms. "You're a failure. Scrap metal, kid."

Before he could control himself, Jack threw a punch.

It had caught Fontaine by surprise - the intention was to put Jack in his place, maybe even piss him off and certainly humiliate him, not cause the kid to _attack_. Hell, maybe this whole process of turning him into a killer was working after all. He'd never _really_ doubted it or though that Jack was a failure - but pushing him to this sure was interesting.

With a laugh, Fontaine stumbled back just a couple steps, the hit aching in his jaw. Damn, the kid knew how to throw a punch and he definitely hadn't pulled it.

Reaching forward, Fontaine took a hold of Jack's shoulders, jerking him roughly. "Listen to me, kid. Don't you _ever_ hit me again like that, got it?" Maybe he was a little more grown up than he gave the kid credit for. Kids didn't start schoolyard fights, teenagers did. He sure wasn't an adult, though. Jack stared at him, struck between horror at what he'd just done and a desire to stick with the petulance he'd shown thus far.

Ultimately, horror won out. "Sorry, Mister Fontaine," he said, quietly. "I'm really sorry."

Fontaine sneered just a bit, watching the kid closely. Finally, he said, "You wanna be an adult, kid? You wanna be treated like a real flesh-and-blood human being? Then show me. There's one thing that sets kids apart from adults, that sets humans apart from animals. Show me."

Jack hesitated - what did Fontaine mean? Was this a riddle had to figure out? Did he even know enough about real people to understand it? The thought bothered him - he didn't want to admit that could possibly be true.

"I don't know what you mean," he confessed.

Fontaine smirked. "'Course you don't. Because you're just a kid. An animal. A slave. Nothin' but a lab creation. You're gonna do your job and then what will you have in life? What'll be the point of you? Anything? Anything at all?!" Over the course of his speech, his voice had raised, louder and louder until he was almost shouting. Normally, he didn't revert to shouting. Normally, he could get his point across just fine without resorting to such immature and unimaginative scare tactics - but dealing with a kid was different.

Trembling, Jack grit his teeth, looking up at Fontaine with anger in his eyes. Even though an hour ago he'd regarded this man as something out of a fairy tale, a normal person standing in his clothes and being belittled by him couldn't help but feel that start to ebb away. For Jack, though, the years of propaganda he'd been continuously hit with to trust Fontaine held true. Fontaine was right. Of course - Fontaine was _always_ right. How could he think differently? He was just a slave, and even that was being generous. He had no point. He had no reason. He was like a monkey in people's clothing.

Sullen, Jack didn't reply for a long moment. Fontaine was the one who finally broke the silence. He moved a hand from Jack's shoulder to cup his chin, pointing the boy's face up towards him. Voice considerably lower now, he whispered, "It doesn't have to be that way, kid. Just show me. Show me what I wanna see."

It was frustrating - he couldn't read _minds_ , and he didn't know what Fontaine wanted. Whenever Suchong wanted something, he'd always give an order. He used the three magic words so often that sometimes Jack's head would spin at the end of the day. But Fontaine wasn't using them at all. Why?

"Give me an order," he pleaded. "Please, Mister Fontaine. Tell me what to do."

Well. That was a surprise.

Slowly, Fontaine inched up towards Jack, so close that Jack stumbled backwards, into the bed. He was pleased to discover that it _was_ soft, and it didn't creak mercilessly like his own. But the expression on Fontaine's face was hard, his lips curled ever so slightly in a sort of smirk. Jack watched it warily.

The kid was beautiful. It was hard to deny that. Jasmine Jolene, while certainly not his type, was a looker (maybe even naturally). Even Andrew Ryan wasn't bad to look at. Genetically, it made sense. What didn't was the growing lust that had been building since the kid had gripped onto him in the elevator, the heat that had been rising as he watched Jack getting dressed in his own clothes.

He was a baby, but he wasn't a kid. Two years old - but he looked seventeen. Eighteen, maybe. It wasn't exactly wrong. Besides, what did it matter? It had been hard work lining this all up, and he was getting impatient waiting for the results. His assassin still had some work to do before he could infiltrate Rapture and take down Andrew Ryan - and Fontaine still had some plans he needed to initiate first - but what was to say he couldn't get anything out of it beforehand? Fontaine wasn't one to question what he desired. If he wanted something, it didn't matter what (or who) it was, he would get it. Money, sex, respect, power. Things came to Fontaine easily. He wasn't about to let this opportunity pass him by. When was the last time he'd gotten to fuck a virgin?

Besides, it would keep the kid under his thumb in ways even propaganda couldn't accomplish on its own.

"I think it's time for a more in-depth examination," he said, finally, "don't you?"

Jack wasn't sure what Fontaine meant, but he nodded slowly. "Y-yes, Mister Fontaine."

Licking his lips, Fontaine smirked. "Strip, would you kindly?"

Jack's previous uncertain but willing expression cleared off his face in an instant. He stared towards the older man, his lips parting as his mouth hung part-way open. He wanted so badly to stand there, shocked, confused, to ask "what?" and get a straight answer, but his hands were already moving, his expression clearing once again. It was as if two parts of his head were warring with each other. Even following all of Suchong's commands day in and day out, he'd never felt this kind of conflict inside before. Sometimes Suchong would ask him to do things he didn't feel like doing at the time, but never had he been so sure that this was something he didn't want to do, something he didn't understand, something he absolutely didn't agree with. As his hands were reaching up to yank at the knot of the tie, he felt a massive headache brewing. Was he trying to fight it? Impossible. He couldn't - they'd made him try before, but he'd never truly _wanted_ to before.

The tie came off and he dropped it to the floor, letting the jacket slip from his shoulders and join in. He wasn't new to this. No, he'd never had sex before - who would he have had it _with_? - but his accelerated growth process had been first and foremost fueled by hormones. He'd been pumped so full of them that it hadn't taken him long to get familiar with his body and the unexpected way it could sometimes react - and even what he could do on his own to relieve that reaction. It wasn't new, but it had always been so personal, so private.

He had the buttons of the vest undone and it hit the floor before he knew it. Fontaine was watching him with a look that could only be categorized as _lecherous_ , but it didn't do anything to delay Jack. With the vest gone, he started in on the shirt, starting at the button at his neck and working down. Slowly, his chest was revealed to Fontaine, who wasted no time in reaching out, touching it. Jack shuddered, involuntary, discarding the shirt when he was done with it. He was half-sitting, half-leaned against the bed, Fontaine standing right up next to him, keeping him pinned there. Jack swallowed, undoing his belt, the pants button, and its zipper. He struggled out of them, leaving him in his underwear. No, no, no, no, no. He didn't want this. He didn't want to do this. Not so quickly, not so suddenly, not without understanding why. Did he even want Fontaine? He wasn't sure… but Fontaine wanted him, so wasn't that good enough? The propaganda flashed through his mind with each passing second. Fontaine was good. Fontaine was just, and he did what he had to do. He was a hero to the people. A hero to the working class. A good man. A great man. A righteous man. A king. A god.

The next thing Jack knew, he was bare, naked in front of Fontaine. The man smirked. In the low light of the room, between the yellow tones of the lamp across the room and the neon signs coming in through the wide expanse of the window, Jack could see his eyes, scouring every inch of Jack's body, finally taking the more thorough examination Suchong had offered him earlier. It made Jack's stomach turn.

Fontaine's hands moved down Jack's chest, fingertips bearing into his skin, pressing hard as he moved smoothly from chest to hips. He gripped Jack there on either side, pulling him into a kiss so harsh and crushing that it could never be mistaken for romance. Jack slacked against the kiss, not pressing back but not pulling away. Fontaine hadn't ordered him to kiss him. He didn't have to, but he knew better than to reject advances. He was naive, but not stupid. Even so, his minimal involvement didn't seem to please Fontaine too much. Pulling back, the man growled under his breath, pushing Jack roughly against the bed. Jack got the memo, scrambling farther onto it. He watched as Fontaine discarded his jacket, fully expecting Fontaine to join him. When he didn't, though, Jack swallowed, watching him carefully.

"Mister Fontaine?" he asked, voice trembling. There he was, exposed, lying spread out across the bed while the man above him stood and watched. What was he supposed to do? What was Mister Fontaine going to do to him? If he ran for the door, could he get away?

"You're mine, Jack," Fontaine said, suddenly, "and you're going to do what I want."

Jack knew that was true. Fontaine had made sure of that. He said nothing, though, keeping his eyes on the man, trying to follow his line of thought to the finish line before he got there. Fontaine was pulling off his own tie, and the first few buttons of his shirt, revealing an undershirt similar to Jack's own beneath it, pulling the suspenders he was wearing off his shoulders and letting them hang from his waistline. So many layers…

He slid onto the bed, straddling Jack with legs on either side. The green neon light coming in from the window lit up Jack's body in all sorts of interesting ways, and Fontaine surveyed him for a moment before leaning in towards him, eager to claim another kiss. Just before he pushed his lips over Jack's, however, Frank stopped, whispering, "Kiss me back, would you kindly?". With those words, the two pressed into the kiss together, Fontaine's tongue slipping into Jack's mouth, teeth gripping his bottom lip and tugging. Jack made a strangled sort of noise into the kiss. His mind was flashing red in panic, his entire body flushed and hot and lit up in red alert. He'd been trained to destroy anything that posed a threat to him, but what happened when that threat was Frank Fontaine?

Fontaine held one of Jack's hands down with his own, the other wandering across the kid's flesh. He found a nipple and twisted it between his thumb and forefinger, and Jack nearly screamed, caught in a kiss that wouldn't seem to stop. When Frank finally pulled his mouth away, hand going to wander other places. Jack gasped for breath.

"Please," he begged. "Please… _stop._ "

"Shut up, would you kindly," Fontaine growled, and Jack's mouth snapped shut, panic flooding him. He needed to calm down. He had to. There wasn't anything wrong with this. It was normal. Fontaine had said it set adults apart from children, humans apart from animals. He had to be an adult; to be human. He couldn't be seen as a slave, as a plaything, as something that would outlive its use. He had to make himself useful. He had to do _something._

And he'd asked for this, hadn't he? He'd caused trouble when Fontaine had said not to, he'd practically begged the man to take him home with him. If he was in too deep, that wasn't Fontaine's fault or problem.

Fontaine's hand brushed against the inside of Jack's thigh, then pressed into the skin there, sweeping up and down, rough and wanting. A small sound escaped Jack's mouth, but it didn't seem to disobey orders. It wasn't until Fontaine brought his hand up to cup lightly around Jack's hardened cock that he absolutely couldn't hold in a cry. When had that happened? When had this turned him on? He felt absolutely disgusted with himself, but part of him kept repeating that he wanted this, that Fontaine was just doing him a favor - the same tired mantra echoing over and over in his mind.

"You can make all the noise you want," Fontaine said, quiet, clarifying. "Just don't _talk_ unless you're told."

Jack could abide by that rule. He didn't trust anything that was likely to come out of his mouth right now, anyway.

A moment later, Fontaine withdrew his hand. He moved suddenly, the warmth that had been coming from his body instantly disappearing. Jack watched him leaning towards the bedside table, opening the drawer and reaching for something inside. When Fontaine returned with a small, clear bottle, Jack wasn't certain what it was for - but it seemed he didn't have to do much of the "being certain". Fontaine was going to do that for the both of them. Still, apprehension filled him, and he tensed, his muscles tightening.

Frank popped the bottle open with his thumb, but before pouring any of the liquid over his hands he paused, turning his gaze towards Jack. The boy was visibly stiff. This wouldn't work if he didn't loosen up.

"Relax," Fontaine said, quietly, trying to summon up as much of a soothing tone as he possibly could. When Jack made no signs of resting, however, Fontaine grit his teeth, his next words much more terse than before. " _Relax_ , would you kindly." It wasn't a question. Jack relaxed, resting against the bed, his muscles slacking. That done, Fontaine turned his attention back to the bottle in his hand, squeezing out a generous amount of the gel onto his first two fingers.

He thought about telling Jack it was going to hurt, but he decided it didn't really matter.

Pushing the two fingers in at once, Fontaine made sure to use his other hand to hold one of Jack's hips down. It was a good idea - as soon as he pushed the fingers into Jack, and curled them just a bit, Jack bucked, gasping sharply for air, too stunned to shout or cry or do anything but gasp and buck and then, finally, whimper.

Fontaine began withdrawing, and for a moment Jack thought he was free before he shoved in again, pushing in and out, and it felt absolutely horrible, like he was being invaded, like he was being filled up in a way he never should have been and he didn't like it, he didn't _want_ it, he didn't--

"Would you kindly," Fontaine started, gripping Jack's hip hard enough to leave bruises, "get it through your head that you want this?"

And when Fontaine shoved in again, Jack realized suddenly he was right. The idea that he'd been given a command, a command he couldn't escape to change an opinion didn't even occur to him. Fontaine was there, and he was warm, and he was doing things to Jack that nobody else would do to him, not ever. And Jack _wanted_ him to. He wanted him to so badly.

With Jack's demeanor sufficiently overhauled, Fontaine had the green light to do whatever he wanted. It wouldn't be until much, much later - if at all, really - that Jack would realize he'd been strong-armed into something he hadn't agreed to, and when that happened, he'd be back in Suchong's care and Fontaine would have moved on.

If Fontaine thought the kid was a looker before, the way he gasped, panted, and squirmed against his bed was even better. His body twisted, one hand going to grasp Fontaine's shoulder, the other gripping the sheets. Fontaine knew that Suchong didn't consider himself an artist, but if Fontaine could, he'd nominate the man for Rapture's master artistry award. If the city could see Jack as he was now, there was no way Cohen would win again.

But Rapture couldn't see Jack - and they certainly couldn't see him as he was now. Jack was his, and he was going to stay that way. They just needed to make it official.

Grasping the small bottle, Fontaine flicked it open again, withdrawing his fingers from inside Jack. The boy made an audible sigh, not disappointment but not relief, just emptiness. Fontaine didn't pay it much mind. He'd fix that problem in just a moment. Flipping the bottle, he squeezed some of the gel into his hand and then smothered it over his own length, from top to bottom and back up again. His own touch made him quiver, but not nearly as much as the anticipation did.

Just as Jack was starting to catch his breath, Fontaine pushed in, hard and forceful, and Jack gave a shout so loud that Fontaine, were he not confident Mercury Suites was built with soundproof walls, would have to pay some people off to keep quiet about. That was, however, the very last thing on his mind at the moment. The feeling of being inside Jack, of feeling him, of having him around him, tight and unforgiving despite his earlier attempts at stretching the muscle was amazing. It was just loose enough to not be uncomfortable for him, and while he couldn't imagine the sudden intrusion had been pleasant for the boy, in all complete honesty he just didn't care. He pushed in, farther, savoring the warmth and the way Jack tensed and relaxed and gasped and screamed, and Fontaine could tell that he was grinning but it felt far away, removed. Jack gasped Fontaine's name, and when the man came, Jack's toes curled and he cried out, tears coming down his cheeks.

For a long moment, Fontaine stayed there, his arms curled around Jack's body (that must have happened sometime during the sex, but he didn't remember doing it), hovered above him on his knees. Jack was gasping, his eyes wide on his face, and Fontaine thought for a minute that his expression was going to stick that way before the kid's eyes slowly slid shut. The tears on his face were drying - they were, most likely, from pain rather than trauma.

For a long time, neither spoke. Finally, Jack looked up at Fontaine sheepishly. He wanted to talk, to say something, but he wasn't certain if he could. The problem with "would you kindly shut up" was that it had been so vague that his mind was confused with the command - how long could it impair his speech ability? Frank seemed to realize the problem and sighed.

"You can talk now," he said, although there wasn't much he wanted to say. What sort of discussion did they need to have? Really, he'd already recovered from the orgasm, and his first thought was to bathe and eat the dinner that had likely long-since cooled in the lounge.

"Am I," Jack said, slowly, still catching his breath, "am I an adult now?"

Fontaine thought about that for a while. "Sure, kid," he answered, finally, and although the nickname contradicted the answer he'd just given, it seemed to satisfy Jack enough that he smiled, just a little bit. When Fontaine pulled away moments later to start running the bath, Jack followed, stumbling after him in a way that made Fontaine wonder if he'd bred loyalty in the kid in a way entirely more serious than he'd intended.

It wasn't so bad, though. He could think of worse people following him around. Tomorrow, he'd return the kid to Suchong, and within months, Jack wouldn't remember a moment of this night - but that feeling of loyalty would remain.


End file.
